


Adomania

by nickahontas



Series: The Mudblood of Slytherin [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Gen, Necromancy, Potions, Prewett Twins Live!, Rituals, Runes, Self-Insert, Study of Ancient Runes (Harry Potter), The department of mysteries - Freeform, Unspeakables (Harry Potter), War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 02:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30031683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickahontas/pseuds/nickahontas
Summary: When the Sorting Hat tried to sort Ted Tonk’s little sister into Slytherin, Dumbledore intervened and she was sent to Ravenclaw. At Hogwarts, Lucy kept her head down, content to be forgotten, until she is forced to join the Order of the Phoenix.Years later, Voldemort is reborn, the Order is regrouping, and Dumbledore needs a favor. He can’t find anyone willing to serve as defense professor.Or, I wanted the perspective of Hogwarts from an adult so here we are.
Series: The Mudblood of Slytherin [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2129373
Comments: 4
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Adomania: the sense that the future is coming too quickly. 
> 
> This character is the same from the Mudblood of Slytherin. I accidentally deleted 3/4 of the new chapter in that fic, so I needed a break, which turned into this: “what if Lucy was sorted into Ravenclaw instead?” 
> 
> You won’t need to have read that fic for this one to work :).

“Tonks, Lucille.” McGonnagal called. 

Whispers and hisses echoed from the right side of the Great Hall. From the Slytherin side. They knew the story of Ted Tonks and Andromeda Black. They still resented the eldest Tonks’s audacity. They were still furious a mudblood convinced a Black to sully her honor and that of her family. They were furious and resentful, but they were curious. The first Tonks was a nuisance and the war hadn’t truly begun then. What would the littlest Tonks prove capable of? 

Lucille Tonks was a cute little girl. Plump and round cheeked with thick blonde braids. She was surprisingly graceful, surprisingly prideful. A few of the Slytherins shifted in their seats. That was the way a Black held themselves, the way a pureblood child was raised to be. Andromeda Tonks had done unspeakable things, betraying things, if this little girl was any indication. It was one thing to cast off her family’s legacy for a mudblood. It was another thing to tell that mudblood their secrets. 

The Hat lowered onto her head and laughed. It laughed and laughed, a booming sound that echoed over the Hall. McGonnagal stared down at it nervously.

Then, when the cackling subsided to a chuckle, it cried, “SLYTHERIN!”

Everyone froze. Everyone knew the story of Ted Tonks and Andromeda Black. They knew he was a muggleborn. They knew this little girl was his sister. They knew of the war being fought beyond the castle walls. 

It seemed the girl did too. Her big blue eyes widened and she pulled the Hat further down onto her head, casting her childish face in shadow. 

The Hat laughed again.

“Oh no, Miss Tonks. I’ll not be sorting you anywhere else. You are meant for great things. Terrible, yes, but great.” It laughed again, like it had told a joke only it could understand. “You will not achieve that greatness anywhere other than Slytherin.”

The girl clutched the stool in a white knuckled grip. 

The Headmaster, who had been warring with himself on his throne, suddenly stood tall, resplendent in gold robes.

“Hat, perhaps it would be wisest-“

The Hat cut him off with deep, heavy sigh that shoved itself lower onto Lucy’s ears.

“Salazar would have fought tooth and nail for her,” it says, almost sadly, “but he was a wise man. He was an educator, perhaps above all else. He adored children and he would have wanted each and every one of them to be safe.”

It wiggled around on Lucy’s head, scratching at her brows and temples.

“Hmmm.....let’s see....not an ounce of bravery beyond self-preservation, nor the slightest hint of chivalry. Definitely not Gryffindor. Even with that boldness of yours.”

Lucy stared at the inside of the Hat and wished with everything in her that she could melt into the cold gray stones beneath the stool. In her panic, she couldn’t tell if the Hat was speaking aloud, announcing her psychoanalysis for everyone to hear, damning her for the next seven years. She certainly hoped it wasn’t.

“Not Hufflepuff, either,” it carried on in it’s drawling tones, not even bothering to hide its amusement. “You’re willing to twist justice and honesty to suit your needs. Dastardly of you. Cunning, one might say...And yet another might call it wise. You’ve got a sharp mind. Innovative. Creative. Original. The only problem is that you think of it as a weapon to be honed and that, my dear girl, is why you belong in Slytherin House.”

It shifted around, tickling her skin again. Merlin, she still had to put her black witch’s hat on after the Sorting, too. She’d be itching all night no matter where she ended up living.

When the Hat spoke again, the voice was loud and booming for all of Hogwarts to hear.

“Greatness lies ahead of you, Lucille Tonks. Will you take it?”

I’d rather be alive to have a chance, thank you.

“And that, my girl,” it said, still for everyone to hear, “is a very Slytherin reason to go to RAVENCLAW!”

  
  


* * *

Things might have gone very differently if Lucy were sorted into Slytherin. She might have had great friends or fell into an all consuming love or made herself into a formidable witch. Slytherin House might have honed her ambition and boldness. It might have made her great. 

Instead, Lucy is sorted into Ravenclaw and things are just as different and the same as they might have been. 

Lucy still has a journal and a bag cursed and warded to the high heavens, but The Plan is different. She spends her fourth year submerged into divination, philosophy, and arithmancy, nearly going mad with it all until she decides the fate of her new world. There are too many variables. Too many things could go wrong. Ted and Andy and Nymph are going to be safe for almost two decades of things go how they’re supposed to. A lot can happen in two decades.

Besides, James Potter is a bullying prat and Regulus Black is an insufferable snob. There’s no reason she should risk the lives of her family for the likes of them.

Indeed, Lucy never even makes friends in Hogwarts. There are plenty of acquaintances and none of her housemates intend her harm, but they are distant. She doesn’t belong with them and they know it. She knows it. Even Flitwick knows it. Still, there is no denying that she is a boon to their house. Lucy stops attending regular classes her third year. She checks in with the professors once a week and spends all of her time immersing herself in magic.

The Unspeakables come to her when she’s fifteen. Voldemort and Dumbledore are both right on their heels. When she points that out, Dumbledore chuckles sadly and Voldemort tortures her half to death.

Lucy picks the Unspeakables. She graduates a year early and tries to escape into the mysteries of magic. Tries and fails. There is no hiding from war. It hunts her down and herds her into Dumbledore’s waiting arms.

Perhaps in Slytherin she might have learned to duel. She might have learned to make survival an art. As it is, her strengths lie elsewhere. She brews and wards and only fights when she must. The war passes by in a haze of a rush. One day she is brewing Polyjuice in Longbottom Hall and the next Pandora Lovegood is in her kitchen with a baby Luna on her hip, talking about Lily Potter and blood rituals and the Dark Lord’s defeat. Lucy takes one look at a photo of Nymphadora and the guilt subsides. Her family is safe. That’s all that matters.


	2. Chapter 2

Lucy never wanted to join the Order of the Phoenix. She had a duty that she didn’t mind fulfilling, but she never wanted to deal with all of the righteousness and pretension. They were all a bunch of snobs, except for perhaps Moody, and it seems like nothing has changed over the years. They peer around Grimmauld Place with wary and stern expressions. Lucy tries to hide behind the Prewett twins in the corner, but Nymphadora drags her forward to take a seat at the kitchen table.

“No sense in being shy,” her niece says cheerily.

Lucy sighs. She’s not being shy. She simply doesn’t want to be around these people. She has her own friends (Beatrice the werewolf prostitute, Vitya the Russian unspeakable, and Nero the runaway tailor) and her own life (sure, most of it isn’t legal, but Auror Tonks doesn’t need to know that). She doesn’t have the time or energy to deal with the Order of the Phoenix.

Across the table, Severus Snape gives her a commiserating grimace. He understands, at least. He hasn’t changed much since she saw him at the last potions convention. In fact, he looks worse. It’s probably the war. Or maybe he simply doesn’t care enough to put himself together for these things. Lucy sure the hell doesn’t. Besides, she’s got to be careful with what she wears. She’s blonde and curvy and most people take that as an invitation. A shame, really, since she would rather be left alone with her runes and books.

It’s a long, boring meeting. Albus Dumbledore describes the Triwizard Tournament and Voldemort’s resurrection. Fascinating piece of magic, that. It really is a shame the Dark Lord is such a murderous psychopath. Lucy would have liked nothing more than to pick his brain apart. Eventually, Dumbledore calls out her name, startling her out of her traitorous thoughts.

“Sirius and I would be most appreciative if you could check the wards, Lucy,” he says kindly.

She waves her hand flippantly. “I’m sure they’re fine. Orion Black was a legend in the warding community. But I’ll not pass up the chance to play with them.”

“That’s one word for the paranoid old bastard,” Sirius Black mumbles.

“I’d also like to extend an offer of employment to you,” Dumbledore says, acting as though Black hadn’t spoken. “I seem to be having trouble finding a defense professor and Cornelius is trying to gain a foothold at Hogwarts. I have no doubt that he will have his own applicants to recommend before long.”

Lucy stares. She blinks and stares some more.

“You want me to teach Defense? Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Have you gone mad?!”

Remus Lupin coughs into his fist in a poor attempt to cover his amusement. The Headmaster seems just as amused. His beard keeps twitching and his eyes are doing that reprehensible twinkling.

“Probably,” he admits, “but this is one of my more sane ideas. You hold the highest NEWT scores since-“

“Yeah but that doesn’t mitigate all the fucked up hobbies I have! Here children, let me teach you this neat little shortcut I created to raise inferi!”

Even the Prewetts go tense in the ensuing silence. No one likes to talk about Colchester. That night has haunted Lucy for sixteen years and she was the one who got them out. 

“I’m afraid necromantic rituals would fall under the jurisdiction of Ancient Runes, not Defense.” Dumbledore says.

Lucy groans and massages her temples. “You really have gone mad, haven’t you?”

“I like to think we all are. Some of us-“

“Please, spare me.” She rubs her eyes and glares over at the Headmaster. “If I wanted whimsical philosophies, I would have gone to visit Luna. I have a feeling that I’ll have to deal with an excess of your elderly prattling as it is.”

Dumbledore leans forward enough to dislodge his spangled hat. “So you’ll take it, then?”

“Of course I’ll take it,” she grumbles.

He beams. Absolutely, blindingly beams. Dear god, she forgot how happy and optimistic and hopeful they all are. It's going to be a long couple of years.

“Excellent!”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Will I be helping out with potions again?” Her question is mostly directed at Severus. “I don’t want to step on any toes.”

Severus inclines his head. “I would appreciate the help.”

“This place got a lab?”

“Yes.” His hooked nose crinkles into an interesting shape. “Though it reeks of rotting flesh.”

That perks Lucy right up. “Really? Do you think it’s human?”

Nymph groans. “Merlin, Auntie! Do you have to be so weird?!”

“At least I’m not clumsy.”

At that, the war council quickly derails into a reunion of sorts. Nymph spends too much time looking at Lupin, Moody spends too much time looking at Snape, Mrs. Weasley spends too much time looking at Lucy, and Black spends too much time looking at nothing. It’s all a bit too sad, so Lucy sneaks out and spends too much time looking at a bottle of elf-wine.

——————

“This is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

The Order stops arguing to glare at Lucy. Molly Weasley even goes as far to curl her lip. To make life simpler, Lucy has almost completely moved in to Number 12. Most of the potions need near-constant supervision, the infamous Black library is too good to pass up, and there's a particular locket she's waiting for them to throw out. Molly does not appreciate Lucy’s presence any more than she appreciates Sirius Black’s. The three of them try not to stay in the same room for very long.

“You got a better idea?” Moody spits. Literally spits. It splashes onto Bill Weasley’s hand, who frowns and wipes it on his jeans.

“Uh, yeah. Portkey.”

“The Ministry would never give us a portkey,” Elphias Doge says.

“So we make our own.”

“That’s illegal,” Molly snaps.

Lucy looks very pointedly at Sirius Black, who is balancing his chair on its back legs. He lets it slam back down and gives them all a roguish smile.

“Are you even listening?!” Molly scolds.

“No,” he says. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

Emmeline Vance wraps her shawl tight around her shoulders. “Portkey magic is regulated. The Ministry has an entire department set up to trace it.”

“A small department,” Lucy argues, “and you can absolutely work around those spells, anyway. Use a modified portkey at Figg’s house while someone apparates in. They hang out before they leave, that way if the Ministry does investigate a squib’s house- which they won’t, because the Ministry is a nepotic cesspool of bigotry- she can just say that a friend came to visit. Much simpler. And quicker.”

Kingsley crosses his thick arms. He tips his chin up to appraise Lucy with an inscrutable expression.

“Never heard of a modified portkey.”

“Yer an auror, mate. Course you ain’t,” Dung chimes in. Lucy was honestly surprised to see his scraggly figure walk through the door. She figured he’d be in hiding for another three weeks after the dementor fiasco.

Moody scoffs, but he does look thoughtful. “And you lot know how to make one?”

Dung doesn’t bother to answer, so Lucy heaves a sigh.

“No, but I can find out easily enough.”

A flat out lie, of course. There’s been an illegal portkey on the Tonks family mantle since she was fifteen years old. It’s spelled to a safehouse deep in the Scottish highlands. Only Andromeda knows about it. Ted and Nymph are too stubborn to allow something so illegal in their house.

“You need a new place,” Nymph grouses.

“I need a new place,” Black says.

“I happen to like my flat and your place,” Lucy says.

“Well you can bloody well have it, then.”

Lucy rolls her eyes. “I told you, this house is sentient. If it senses-“

Black shoves his chair back and leaves the kitchen without another word. Everyone watches him leave with pained, pitying expressions. Lucy sighs and makes to follow him.

“Well, if that’s all, I’m going to go home to Knockturn where we sacrifice virgin maids on the new moon.”

“Don’t,” Moody warns darkly. “Black’s got a reason to act like a surly teenager. You don’t.”

Lucy scowls down at him. "Excuse me if I'm not excited to call in a very useful favor for some kid I've never met because you lot are too sanctimonious to get your hands dirty."

No one stops her when she leaves. She does, in fact, call in her favor with a vampire named Tihomir, who puts her in contact with a hag who owns a tea shop, who knows a kid straight out of Hogwarts. Best to keep up with appearances. Moody’s probably got two people on her tail. Lucy warns her supplier about Voldemort when they’re done with business. He turns out to be a muggleborn and sells her a copy of his research so that he can afford immigration to Australia for his family.

"Were you a Slytherin?" Lucy asks.

"Nah. Hat said I wouldn't be safe."

Lucy smirks. "Their loss."

He smirks back. "Their loss," he agrees.

——————

Lucy has once again earned the scorn of the entire Order of the Phoenix. Only Dumbledore is looking at her with something other than annoyance. He folds his hands together and peers at her intensely.

"And how do you propose we retrieve the orb without Voldemort's knowledge? At least one of your colleagues is spying for him.”

“We’ve got two potions masters and a metamorphagus. Turn someone into Harry, have them go somewhere public, and have Harry follow me around the Department in his invisibility cloak.”

“Do you regularly work in the Hall of Prophecies?” Severus asks.

“No, but the DOM doesn’t really work like that.”

Moody grunts as he adjust his wooden leg. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific if you want to even consider considering this.”

“Fine.” Lucy scowls and tugs a lock of hair behind her ear. “We are rarely assigned to a department after our first couple of years. When you’re recruited, they put you in a specific department where you do grunt work for a more experienced researcher. After you’ve proved yourself worthy, you generally drift around the Departments until you find your niche. Some people study one thing their entire lives. Some people switch every few months. Some people study multiple things at once, especially when their areas of expertise overlap with other ‘rooms’, as we like to call them. My work is one of those subjects that overlaps. And I’m known to take breaks for weeks at a time too. It’s encouraged, actually.”

“What is it you study?” Doge asks, almost hesitantly.

“Death.”

The room grows eerily quiet. Down the table, Vance shudders and slips further down into her seat.

“What’s that like?” Black asks curiously.

“Cold, mostly. Everyone hates helping us out because the chamber is always so damn cold.”

Nymph’s eyes grow wide. Literally grow wide. It’s something she’s done since she was five years old. She’s always worn her heart on her sleeve despite her abilities. “What, like for the bodies?”

“Why would we keep bodies there? It’s the veil that-“

“Implying that you keep bodies elsewhere,” Black says.

“For one, it would hardly be hygienic-“

“You’re confident you can smuggle Potter in?” Snape cuts in, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

Lucy nods. “Getting him in and out isn’t the problem. I’m more worried about an invisible teenage Gryffindor surrounded by priceless magical artifacts.“

“Oi!” Fabian Prewett cries. “Almost all of us are Gryffindors!”

“Yeah, and what would you do if you were fifteen and surrounded by brains?”

Arthur Weasley shifts in his seat. “Literal brains?”

“Yes.”

“Oh dear.”

“Precisely. And I’m sure as hell not letting a boy touched by death stay in the death chamber for hours. That’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

“I’ll speak to Harry,” Dumbledore says. “Nymphadora, would you comfortable with taking on his identity?”

“Sure. I’d need to see some memories to learn his mannerisms and speech patterns, but I’m all in. Sounds fun.”

Black scratches his beard thoughtfully. “There’s probably some ancient tracking jewelry in one of the vaults. Might be able to mess around with it so that you can sense if he wanders off too far.”

“I thought you were the fun parent,” Lucy counters.

Black gives her an uncharacteristically grim look.

“I trust Harry,” he says firmly. “It’s magical artifacts that I don’t trust. One of the books in the family library nearly took off Reggie’s arm when we were boys. If that’s what things in this house are like, I don’t want to know what the sort of things you work on are capable of.”

“A good point, Sirius,” Dumbledore says. “Alastor and I will discuss this in private and make a decision soon. In the meantime...”

When Severus rises to go to the lab, Lucy follows him. If the spy doesn’t need to hear it, the cannon fodder doesn’t either.


End file.
